Charlie Wilson and Kem are what Chris Brown and Trey Songz should aspire to be when they grow up: Contemporary R&B stars whose guiding principal is class, not crass.

At 62, Wilson's career is peaking. For the first time since the heyday of the Gap Band, he is headlining big arenas, and filling them. On Saturday (March 14), he brought his Forever Charlie Tour to New Orleans' Smoothie King Center for what amounted to a mini-Essence Festival, with Joe and Kem also on the bill. Around 12,000 fans filled the Smoothie King Center to the rafters -- a larger audience than that for Songz and Brown two nights earlier in the same venue.

Songz and Brown describe in graphic detail -- almost to the point of farce -- their bedroom intentions. The women in their lyrics are objects meant to acquired, dismissed and/or impressed by the singers' allegedly otherworldly abilities.

By contrast, Wilson and Kem are old-school romantics who understand the value of respect. Respect for women. Respect for themselves.

Songz costumed his female dancers in barely-there French maid outfits and leered as they writhed; he pantomimed sex with one of them. Wilson's dancers wore outfits that qualified as sexy, but were more showgirl than stripper. And nobody simulated sex while Wilson and Kem were onstage.

The New Orleans date was the third of four consecutive nights of performances on the Forever Charlie Tour. The night before New Orleans, the tour played Dallas; the night after, it went to Houston, with overnight bus rides in between.

It would be a grueling schedule even for a singer in his 20s. I interviewed Wilson by phone several days before he got to town, and visited with him backstage at the Smoothie King Center several hours before his show. He was gracious, forthright and pleasant, but, not surprisingly, low-key as compared to his stage persona. He was resting his voice, his neck wrapped in a scarf.

His energy and voice were both fully present when he arrived onstage in a sparkling jacket, swinging a lantern like a train conductor - specifically, the conductor of the "Party Train." For the next 90 minutes, he was in near-constant motion even as he applied his sonorous voice to a set list drawn mostly from his contemporary solo albums.

He beefed up his production for this big tour with lasers and eruptions of smoke; he and his dancers also sported their electric LED suits. But ultimately the show was all about the music, the songs, the voice and the mutual affection between performer and audience.

He represented his history with the Gap Band, but did not feel obliged to explore it exhaustively. He presided over the funky "Burn Rubber On Me," but skipped another Gap Band dance floor favorite, "You Dropped A Bomb on Me." Along the way, he plugged his current "Forever Charlie" album, his Facebook page, and his upcoming autobiography, "I Am Charlie Wilson." He instructed men in the company of beautiful woman to stand up. "If she's ugly as hell, sit on down," he joked. (What smart man would sit at that point?) The audience roared in the affirmative when he asked who was old school.

He shared the spotlight with his musicians, who were dressed in matching red shirts with lime green suspenders and socks. The musicians, every bit as animated and enthusiastic as their boss, soloed to give Wilson time to slip into a succession of different suits. Sax, guitar and bass contributed to the long outro of "There Goes My Baby," as two dancers pranced in prim pink polka dot dresses. An extended keyboard solo filled out the coda of his current "Touched By An Angel."

"Goodnight Kisses" flashed its doo-wop undercarriage, even as Wilson teased out various phrases. He dug deeply into the ballad "You Are," an enormous urban adult contemporary hit that is a wedding favorite.

As is his custom, Wilson took the crowd to church. His "My God Is Amazing" didn't get quite the response he wanted -- "I thought I had more church folks up in here" -- but it proved to be emotional for him nonetheless. By the end of it, he had pushed aside his glasses to wipe his eyes.

With "If I Believe," he paid tribute to the higher power he believes saved him. In the cadence of a preacher in the pulpit, he described escaping crack addiction to rebuild his life and career. With "Yearning for Your Love," he and the band returned to the ultra-smooth groove that defines his sound and character.

The conclusion, a post-bow a cappella snippet, felt a bit haphazard and ill-defined. But Wilson had already given plenty.

Earlier, Kem presided over his own literate, well-oiled machine of a band for a rich presentation carried by his limber, potent voice. During his Congo Square Stage headlining set at the 2013 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, he overcame the pouring rain and vast field of mud in front of him to deliver a sunny, look-to-the-bright-side set. Indoors at the arena, weather wasn't an issue, so he and the band could focus on carving out their deep pocket in comfort.

The musicians wore black suits; Kem went with a slim-cut gray number. They sounded as stylish as they looked, with polished arrangements dressed up by percussion and horns. Kem showcased the powerhouse "Why Would You Stay" at the piano, but mostly roamed across -- and off -- the stage. During "Find Your Way (Back in My Life)," he ventured down to the front row seats to recruit a couple of husbands to serenade their wives with the call-and-response chorus. One of those involuntary singers nailed it; the other -- who looked suspiciously like a certain music critic -- was game, but lame.

The microphone was clearly in better hands when held by Kem. Like Wilson, he believes in giving thanks and praise; he presided over what amounted to an altar call, to a positive response. He then caressed "Promise to Love." Those moments, like this night as a whole, were endorsements for grown-up affection of both the earthly and heavenly varieties.

Music writer Keith Spera can be reached at kspera@nola.com or 504.826.3470. Follow him on Twitter @KeithSpera.